


more than a night (baby look me in the eye)

by Quarguana



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen or Pre-Slash, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, One Night Stands, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarguana/pseuds/Quarguana
Summary: Jaskier has a one night stand between his gig and his opening shift at the Siren.Jaskier needs to learn to keep it in his pants maybe.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	more than a night (baby look me in the eye)

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally my first fic since a SG:A/Discworld crossover like seven years ago. Quarantine is getting to me. This fandom needs more modern AUs and I will help provide.

Jaskier was proud of many things, and honestly, he felt like he deserved it. He was proud of his master’s degree in performance from Oxenfurt (with honors!). He was proud of his YouTube channel that was slowly but surely gaining followers. He was _very_ proud of his latte art.

Some might say that his pride made him a bit, say, overconfident. Jaskier felt that he was exactly as confident as he deserved to be, thank you very much. He’d preen when he saw customers taking pictures of their drinks for Instagram. Creativity was creativity, after all, no matter what his coworkers thought.

There were worse jobs than barista, he thought as he pulled on his apron. He was practically nocturnal as it was, after all. On a good day he could wake up at three or four pm, play a gig, and meet some lovely overnight company. A quick nap with the snack du noir and then it would be off to open the store. In Jaskier’s opinion, that was just efficient time management. 

Last night had been some particularly satisfying _time management_. Even better, Saturday morning rushes were never as bad as weekdays. Customers tended to be a little more chill when they weren’t already five minutes late to work. Overall, Jaskier was in a _stellar_ mood.

When a tall, platinum blond, _gorgeous_ man walked in at 4:35 am, it looked like Jaskier’s morning was only getting better. Sure, he was scowling up a storm, but good moods are contagious!

“Welcome to the Siren, what can I get for you today?” Jaskier asked, smiling and leaning forward, just a little. Wow, the customer really was the most attractive man he’d seen in ages.

However, he was absolutely not making eye contact. Staring firmly and grouchily over Jaskier’s head, the customer said “Coffee. Black. Dark.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but wilt a little. But his latte art! “Nothing else? Something with a little kick? Some milk?”

But the customer was already walking away towards the pickup counter, having dropped three dollars on the counter with a grunt. Well, that would get him a medium coffee, at least. Jaskier rolled his eyes and went to get the coffee. Sure, people aren’t their best this early, but there’s grumpy and then there’s nonverbal.

As soon as the cup touched the counter, Tall, Pale and Grumpy had already grabbed it and was on his way toward the door. “Have a good day,” Jaskier said, projecting as much cheeriness into his voice as possible. “I hope the coffee helps!” _Your personality certainly needs some work, after all_ , he pointedly thought at the man’s retreating back.

That was when the front window exploded inwards, glass ricocheting everywhere. There was a screech, something slammed into him, and then darkness.

* * *

When Jaskier woke up, he had the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. He was in a bed, in the dark, and there was a warm body next to him. The gentle road noise outside the window was almost soothing. Everything felt calm, but Jaskier knew he needed to get out. It was just like every other one night stand he’d ever had.

In fact, the apartment seemed exactly like the apartment in which he’d awoken this morning.

This morning.

Work.

Hot stranger, exploding window.

_What the fuck._

That’s when Jaskier wiggled. Oh, great, perfect – those weren’t sheets tangled around him. He was tied up. What a great day. His great mood from earlier was official dead and rotten.

A gravelly voice next to him said, “Fuck.” Oh, that was the customer, that made more sense than his one night stand just casually lying there.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Jaskier whispered. “Are you hurt? Do you know where we are? I definitely can’t get to my hands. Also, I think-”

“Shut the _fuck up_ ,” the stranger said. He’d rolled over to look at Jaskier, and – oh. His eyes were gold, cat-slit. Beautiful. Jaskier was in bed with a Witcher.

A Witcher who was definitely pissed off. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in?” he asked Jaskier. His hands were busily doing something behind his back. “She didn’t even go for me first. She was there for you.”

“She?” Jaskier asked. He had a bad feeling about this.

“The medusa!” The Witcher’s hands were free. He sat up, pulled a knife from his boot, and loosed his ankles in a single slash. Jaskier swallowed hard. “She wanted you!”

“Then why are you here?” Jaskier asked as the Witcher got out of the bed and started scouring the room. “Wait, where is she?” The Witcher grunted and pulled a lump of blanket out of the closet. It clanked, and he pulled out two shining swords. He had swords, what the fuck.

Jaskier felt light-headed. “I’m too young to be turned into a statue. I mean, I’m gorgeous, I’d be the best statue, It’s really a shame that there aren’t already statues of me, but they shouldn’t _be_ me!”

The Witcher snarled, and slammed out through the door. It crumpled like so much cardboard, and Jaskier squeaked a little.

Some truly horrific noises happened in the other room for what felt like ages and also literally seconds. At first they were all screechy and clangy noises, but then they were squelchy noises, and then there was silence.

Okay, so Jaskier’s wordsmithing abilities weren’t quite up to par at the moment. So sue him.

The Witcher came back into the room, now distressingly blood-covered. It clearly wasn’t his, since it was black, but still. He got right to work undoing Jaskier’s bonds. He also wasted no effort to do it gently.

“Hey, careful!” Jaskier said as he was callously flipped onto his stomach. “I am not the monster!” From his new angle, he could see out the door. This was _definitely_ the same apartment he’d been in last night.

The Witcher grunted again, and dropped the ropes. Jaskier tested his hands. It seemed like everything still worked as he flexed them. “You need to go hide,” the Witcher said. “For at least a week.”

“ _What,_ ” squawked Jaskier. “Why? No! I need to work and earn money and pay rent!”

“The medusa had your hair. She was probably going to sell you to someone,” the Witcher said. “She was planning this.” He wiped his sword off on the bedsheets and started walking out of the room.

Jaskier scrambled to follow him. “Planning this? What if I said that I know it’s only been planned since last night?”

The Witcher grunted, but at least looked at Jaskier as they crossed the living room. The living room where a decapitated woman lay on the floor. The living room where her head was presumably the thing leaking black ichor from inside that Aldi’s bag that the Witcher was picking up. Jaskier pointedly stopped looking at it.

“So, uh, I was at a bar last night, and went home with a lovely lady who did kind of seem too into me. And since I opened this morning I just, ah, dipped without a note. And that’s definitely her,” he finished, pointing at the corpse.

The Witcher stopped. “You spent the night with a medusa.”

“More like, ah, three hours?” Jaskier coughed.

“And she didn’t turn you to stone?” The Witcher almost looked scandalized. “You slept in her bed and you never made eye contact?”

“It was dark!” Jaskier protested. “She was wearing sunglasses! It happens!”

The Witcher shook his head and continued toward the door. “You should still be careful. Medusas have sisters. They won’t be pleased.”

Jaskier had the best and worst idea he’d had in a while (which was saying something). “Why don’t I come with you?”

“Absolutely not.” The Witcher’s voice was even flatter than before.

“It would be good for both of us!” Jaskier continued. “You can protect me from medusas, and I can, can,” he flailed for something, “I can write songs about you!”

“Fuck no.”

“It’s perfect! Witchers need an image overhaul anyway, you’re all so grim.” Jaskier grinned. “I can be your PR person”.

“I’ve changed my mind. Go home.”

Jaskier followed him down the hallway and out into the parking lot. “Oh, absolutely not. It’s not safe.”

The Witcher said nothing as they made their way down the street, though Jaskier kept chattering. The medusa’s apartment was only a few blocks from the Siren, which had made Jaskier’s night earlier. When the Witcher stopped next to an impressively plain brown station wagon, he thought he’d perhaps pushed his luck. However, the Witcher just unlocked the door and got in.

Jaskier waited patiently for him to unlock the passenger side door.

That emphatically did not happen. Instead, the Witcher just pulled out and drove away. Jaskier gaped after him.

Well, to be fair, that completely tracked with the rest of the man’s personality. Jaskier grumbled and walked back to the Siren. Apparently, it had been less than an hour, because there were still several police cars and his hysterical manager.

The rest of the day somehow took a turn for the worse.

Jaskier still had a job that night, by the skin of his teeth. He was only a little banged up, so his manager had been incredibly suspicious. Luckily, the security tapes showed Jaskier being definitely, very kidnapped.

The tapes also helped the police ID the Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken.

He hadn’t been so bad, Jaskier thought once he was finally done with police questioning and back at his apartment. He definitely needed a new car, though. And some better coffee than the Siren could provide. Jaskier could feel a song in there somewhere. Maybe something about helping Geralt afford a better ride. He strummed his guitar and started to compose.


End file.
